Manroot (14 page)

He watched her, by the stream, in the woods, on the path walking with his dog beside her.
It was not this solemn woman who came to him in the night. No, it was the other – the Kathy whom he had known in Castlewood.

One cold morning in November, a stray cat came to the cabin. It was thin to the point of obscenity. Katherine picked it up and brought it in. It found the spot by the stove that had been Rabelais’. She noticed the bulging stomach on the otherwise emaciated animal. Before the week, it had had a litter of four kittens in the partially-filled woodbox. One did not last the day, and she buried it under the pines. The others were also tiny and malnourished, but they fought valiantly to live. Even the dog that came to visit did not disturb the mother, who groomed constantly their plain gray fur. Katherine asked the housekeeper for some canned milk, for now she no longer accompanied Tom to town for shopping; he merely took her list. Hannah thought this exceedingly kind of her husband – she didn’t know the real reason. Hannah now accepted Katherine kindly in the month that she had been here. She had advised on different matters – her remedies succeeded. She was called when the canary did not sing, or when the hens would not lay. She had controlled Hannah’s rheumatism, and the Missus swore by the headache cure. Hannah pronounced Katherine as someone God blessed with the healings. She swore by her.

Katherine kept busy; suddenl
y there was an unexpected frost, so she did not go to the house for several days, as the path had a glaze of ice. The trees glittered with coated frost. She grew large and clumsy and a pain in her back persisted. She worked over the stove, cooking tonics. She knew her time was near. There was a strange south wind that blew that day and far into the night, bringing a smell of salt from the pool at Castlewood some twenty miles away – the pool that in winter was filled with barrels to bob and float and keep the concrete from cracking. It had been a curious day; birds had gathered, chattered nervously in the barren branches, and it was not a natural time. The cat had rolled over and smothered one of her kittens, and in a panic over the death smell she ran away and abandoned the other two. Katherine, awkward and heavy, knelt over the box with bread crusts, soaked in canned milk, and dripped droplets of milk into their demanding mouths. They bawled piteously, and moved constantly, looking for the security of their mother.

It was on this night that she took to her bed, knowing that the time was now.
She put the dog outside and when his whining ceased, hoped he had gone home. She lay timing the pains; they began slowly and mounted to an excruciating pitch. Hours ticked by on the noisy clock. At the proper moment, she slid out of the bed with an inborn instinct, and squatted, holding fast to the bedpost, crouched over the clean towel that she had laid down. One enormous push and he came forth, in a rush, the afterbirth minutes behind. He lay motionless on the towel, a tiny child. She was tempted to cover him and leave him in silence. Without thought, she clutched his heels and held him upside down and smacked him one hard, stinging slap. He cried lustily. With her strong teeth, she severed the cord, and with a cloth, she wiped him clean.

Putting him on the bed, she crawled in beside him.
He cried angrily. She was weak and dizzy…her stomach heaved, she felt tightness, then a hard cramp gripped her. To ease the pain she pushed, then realized. Again, she pushed and panted. It was minutes before he came onto the soiled towel, and she shrank back from it…in the dim light, she could not be sure. It glistened there on the floor before her. It was another child, encased in a glistening sack; he was born in a caul. She did nothing…tiny fists tore through his veil, and he cried on his own. Finally she reached for him, and the sack fell from him in a quivering, iridescent heap, gleaming wetly in the candlelight. Exhausted, she slid back into bed, her breath a harsh sound in the cabin. The sucking noises as the babies nuzzled the cover looking for food seemed loud as thunder. She rolled over on her back, drew one child up to her breast; it nuzzled her and began sucking hungrily. She drew the second child up to her other breast; it too searched through the warm flesh seeking her nipple, and found it. At once a searing pain shot through her. She tore the child away from her bosom and saw the blood on its lips. She looked down at her breast; the nipple bled.

Putting him down, his scream a thin wail as she brought the candle near, she wiped his mouth.
She looked closer; with a finger she separated his lips. What she saw there, she could not believe! Her second son had a row of perfectly-formed teeth.

When the first child was satiated, she coaxed with her finger milk into a clean glass.
It nauseated her, as she dripped droplets much the same way that she had fed the kittens. She could not bear to look at the yawning pink mouth, gagging and grasping at the unfamiliar drops of milk falling into its mouth; with a gurgling sound, it swallowed. The babies slept; with its mouth closed, it looked like the other one, but she had the distinct feeling that they were one…
one
, not two separate beings. Their skin was red, not olive; the down on their head was light – they were William’s sons. They seemed identical. It was a vague thing that crept through her thoughts. She could not place it. It belonged with her grandmother’s forebodings – of mirrors, of photographs, of things that looked alike – the old Indians’ fear of stolen souls. She lay there and wished herself away. She came to him, lay by his side in the cloistered bed in the green room, and tried to draw strength from him.

He must tell her
what to do, yet he slept, turned and whispered her name, and she was still…for the gods would decide for her. Before daylight, she returned; she saw its yawning mouth and the obscenity of those wicked teeth. She rolled upon them and felt their death struggle beneath her – tiny fists pushing and squirming…much like the motion they had created while still within her body. It was the same, now they were outside her body. Then she rolled off and they gasped for air, and began pitiful screaming.

She fed them as
before. She could not keep them…yet she could not abandon them on the orphanage steps. The gods would decide! The day slid by…they ate, they slept. She was in terror that someone would hear their cries. Looking at them as they slept, she knew feelings of love for her sons so strong, that she could not bear what she must do, yet still it stayed with her,
this eerie feeling, these strange thoughts and fears; what did it all mean?
It was like the iridescent sack – a transparency, as if one of them could be laid over the other, to make one whole. It was a crazy thought that came to her: perhaps Providence had planned it for the one who could eat –
perhaps his destiny was to devour the other?

She look
ed into their faces and felt that love well up again, strong and flowing. Images seemed to swim before her, she was tired, so tired. She needed to sleep.

Afraid now that she would roll onto them, she looked around the room
– safe – she must place them somewhere safe.

The clothes basket, of course!
She emptied it, lined it with a pillow and placed the babies there. She covered them with her flannel gown and moved the basket closer to the stove. She saw their arms entwine as they slept peacefully. They were safe, she could rest.

Hours later their cries of hunger awakened her.
She sat up weakly, and it came to her in a flash – the babies, the basket. She imagined bulrushes springing up, cushioning the basket – it was the answer, the only answer.

She took the fi
rst child to her breast, and he drank greedily while the other wailed. To quiet him she offered him her finger and he sucked, he chewed – the pain was excruciating.

Satisfied at last, her first son slept; gently, she laid him on the bed.

Again she coaxed the milk from her breast and fed the second baby as she had done before, dripping the droplets of milk into his gaping mouth as he choked and swallowed. At last he too was satisfied, and she laid him alongside the other.

She made a strong tea, laced it with ginseng, and sat at the table staring into the cup, thinking of the bulrushes.
Could she do it? For their sake she had to. But in this short time the love, the well of protection that she felt for them was already endless. She had never felt a love like this, flesh of her flesh. In their creation she had seen once again one of God’s many miracles.

Hearing a soft whine at the door, she got up and let Rabelais in.
The dog sensed the excitement and went straight to the bed, where he nuzzled the blankets and washed the babies with a tender tongue. They stirred.

“
No – here, boy,” she coaxed, and reluctantly he left the infants and came to her. She patted his head absently, thinking of the babies, the bulrushes…she must make him understand.

The dog
’s brown eyes sought hers. She stared down into their depths and knew he would help her. He did understand; from the first moment there had been a communion.

She did not allow herself to think as she made the preparations.
She found a hollow log, gathered moss and fern and soft green willows – she could not chance cloth, it might be recognized. She would lay them in the log, cover them as best she could, and Rabelais would help her. He would watch over them and deliver them safely.

She
sat on the floor, searched the animal’s eyes and spoke to him in that silent language. Then she took the blanket that had covered the babies and held their scent out to him; he sniffed.

They sat mute for over an hour.
Her concentration, her message – they were so important! Her nose bled and huge splashes fell into her lap, but still she held his gaze, and he absorbed her command. Then, satisfied that he was ready, she resumed her preparations. She unwound the rags in which she had swaddled her babies, and the coolness of the leaves made them cry out. She settled them in the hollow of the log, covering them with the greenery she had gathered and began her journey to the creek. Rabelais followed, running back and forth between her and the water. The importance of his task rendered him impatient.

She stopped at the edge of the lapping waters and held the babies
’ garments out to him. He inhaled their scent again, then she offered him the corner of her cape. “William. They are William’s,” she told the dog. “Protect them. Save them. They are William’s.” She grabbed the scruff of the animal’s neck and stared deeply into his eyes again, sending her message, her command one last time.

She waded into the freezing river to test the log.
It floated perfectly; the current was already tugging at it, drawing it away. She could not look at her sons’ sleeping faces, already so dear to her. She stood there poised, clinging, resisting the water’s flow until somehow she found the strength to let go.

Rabelais ran along the ba
nk barking urgently; he plunged in and out of the water nudging the log, steering its progress. Katherine ran breathless through the trees, prepared to jump in if there was a mishap. Her heart almost stopped with fear when Rabelais veered from the creek and went on ahead, to bark and scratch at Hilltop’s back door.

She was about to dive in and retrieve her sons when a light came on in the house, and the back door opened.
She crouched down, peering out through the leaves and saw Rabelais again in the water guiding the log as Tom hauled it in with a long-handled net.

They were safe!
The beat of her heart seemed to sing the phrase. They were safe-safe-safe…her babies were safe!

Still hiding in the woods, Katherine saw more lights go on in the house, one by one.
Later, a car drove up the long driveway, and from her view through the trees, she saw them leave – the doctor, the Judge and his wife, and they took with them two bundles wrapped in blankets.

In the big house alone, Tom cursed his wife.
“You fool, look what you’ve done! Now they have two sons.”

Katherine didn’t know how long she sat there, but Hilltop was quiet again now and dark, as if nothing special had happened that night. Somewhere an owl called, and she suddenly realized how cold she was. Wearily she went back to the cabin, an ache of emptiness within her. She took comfort in only one thing, her gift to William. These were the sons he had yearned for – sons with golden tomorrows full of promise, and she hoped with all of her heart that she could stay here and watch them grow and flourish like two strong trees. She would do whatever she could to remain; just to be near them had to be enough.

Katherine stayed in her cabin, tending the kittens, holding their tiny gray bodies close to her, as if they coul
d replace what she had given away. She walked the small space of the floor, ate and slept in an erratic pattern. Three days had passed when Rabelais came whining and scratching at her door. Opening it, she saw he held a wad of paper in his slobbering jaws. She took it from him, unrolled the lined notepaper, and read the brief note.

Dear Katherine,

I know the path is icy, but please come to the house. I have important news.

Hannah

She dressed in the hand-me-downs from Elizabeth, and the dress fitted her loosely now, the hem high, as Elizabeth was a much shorter woman.

Rabelais sniffed the kittens and pushed them about with his nose.
They took no fright of the large animal. Shutting the cabin door tightly against the wind, carefully she started down the icy path. On reaching the kitchen at the big house, Hannah opened the door. She was animated and excited. “Sit down. Oh Katherine, something wonderful has happened!”